


summertime: part ii

by we_the_hollow



Series: living like we're renegades: Summer AU [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 09:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_the_hollow/pseuds/we_the_hollow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah yes. More Sterek smut. Whoops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summertime: part ii

t's not that Derek is heavy; despite his rippling godlike muscles and marble jaw and glorious ass, he's actually deceptively light.

It's just that Stiles is built a little like a bird; light, thin, agile and probably hollow boned.

He thanks his mother everyday that he didn't end up looking like his fathers side of the family. He knows his father got lucky in _that_ gene pool of horrors.

So it's not that Derek is heavy, it's just that he is _not moving_. Instead, he is perching atop Stiles' chest; knees bracketing his ribs, not quite burdening Stiles with his full weight, but settled just enough so it is significantly harder to breathe.

And oh yeah, _he isn't moving_.

Five minutes ago, neither of them could keep still. Hence the covers tangled around Stiles' ankles, and the pillows abandoned somewhere at the foot of the bed.

It's hot; too hot, stifling, but Derek. God, why isn't he moving?

He's just staring down at Stiles with his big stupid sparkly green eyes and that small quirk in his lips that makes him look somewhere between fond and a little amused and a lot exasperated which..okay is Derek's near constant state when he's around Stiles.

Almost a default.

He should know, he's seen this smile a gajillion times. And..in situations like this it is infuriating. Foreplay can only last so long. Unfortunately it's much longer for someone like Derek.

"God," Stiles gets a tight grip on an ass cheek and a thigh, hard enough to bruise, while he bucks his hips upwards in an attempt to dislodge the stupid stubborn alpha wolf that is too soft to at least sit down properly on top of Stiles. "Derek, move!" Derek just remains stoic, Stiles' attempts having been futile. He smirks. Derek is being a little shit. "Stop being a little shit,"

"What?" He asks incredulously, laughing on an exhale, his eyes wide but his mouth giving him away, "I'm not doing anything. How am I-"

Somewhere in the house, there's the distinct _thumpthumpthump_ of a headboard against a wall. If Stiles is the only one not getting a Round Two tonight he will literally explode.

"Exactly! You're not doing anything. Just staring down at me with that stupid goofy smile and those ridiculous sparkly eyes. They shouldn't be sparkling when I'm about to have your dick in my mouth," Stiles tongue darts out instinctively, wetting his lips.

Derek visibly cringes, shifts a little, ass cheek rubbing over a nipple. He doesn't seem to have noticed. "Ugh, don't call it a dick, you sound like a blue balled teenager who's just about to jizz in his pants," he says, pursing his lips, eyebrows drawing together.

"I am a blue balled teenager who's just about to jizz in his pants!" Stiles echoes, "At least, I would be if I were wearing any," He winks, clicking his tongue.

Derek swivels around and back, mouth open. "When did you-how-never mind. Shut up. Stop calling it a dick,"

"Alright, okay, I'm sorry. What do you want it to be called? Willy? Member? Bratwurst? _Cock_?" And that. Oh that does it.

Derek's cock, still hard and red and as flush against his stomach as it was when they stopped making out ten minutes ago, twitches traitorously and his eyes aren't sparkling anymore. They're glowing somewhere between that brilliant beta blue and his usual Derek green just how Stiles likes. "That's more like it big guy," Stiles practically growls, gripping it tight, giving it a cursory one up one down, as he admires it. "Now, are you going t-" the rest is muffled as Derek just goes ahead and shoves his cock right into Stiles mouth, hitting the back of his throat and curving down, again, just how Stiles likes.

Derek pulls out after a few sloppy thrusts and, smirking, rests the head on Stiles chin, taps it there a couple times, allows Stiles to breathe. The exhale makes Derek visibly shiver.

He thrusts again, more forcefully this time, frustrated that Stiles is now the one not moving. He hits the back of his throat again and again and again, fingers tight in his hair.

The boy beneath him is gagging; making all these choked off noises and there's spit dribbling down his chin, pooling in his clavicle, soaking Derek's cock and balls, and they're both breathing harshly through their noses and Derek is just all the more turned on. He would stop at the sight of Stiles' wet eyes and laboured breathing but he can tell Stiles is turned on too, if not more so.

He always did like it rough.

The room is filling up with the musky smell of sweat and come, Stiles' arousal lingering as an undertone. Derek reaches a hand behind himself, going for Stiles' cock where it's standing up straight as an arrow, only curving very slightly at the halfway mark.

He squeezes experimentally, watching as Stiles' eyes roll back into his head and his mouth vibrates with a moan that pulls Derek closer to the edge. He'll get back to that later.

It takes just a few more thrusts, Derek's balls slapping against Stiles' chin, and a skilful swirling tongue, before he is pulling out with a pop and spurting heavily all over Stiles' cheekbones and eyelashes and pretty pink lips.

The two sigh in unison, breathe, before Derek hops off Stiles' chest, albeit a little jelly legged, to take care of cleaning duties being not as content as Stiles to bask in the afterglow of sticky cocks and sore asses.

Derek will bask in the smell that he knows will still be hanging in the air _after_ he's cleaned them up. Stiles whines low and guttural in his throat at the sudden loss of heat, of Derek, and Derek just laughs, and dives in to lick a stripe of come off of his chin before running into the bathroom for a washcloth before he can be yanked back in.

Stiles moans again as Derek is rooting around for a cloth. In his peripheral, Derek sees him prop himself up on an elbow, run a hand through his fucked up hair.

He smirks, a Cheshire Cat grin exploding over his face when Derek turns to him. "Y'know, if you give me a minute, I could be ready for Round Three," he says matter-of-fact, shoulders shrugging up and down. "You can eat me out. I might even fuck your face, if you want," Stiles suggests, so casually it makes Derek chuckle.

So Derek forgoes the washcloth, in favour of marching back over to the bed, dragging Stiles' legs over his shoulders and eating him out until he gets a cramp in his jaw, and Stiles is a babbling mess.


End file.
